#hefty records
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
sinceileftyoublog · 3 months ago
Text
Same Waves, Whitney Johnson & Lia Kohl Live Show Review: 2/5, Evanston SPACE
Tumblr media
Same Waves (from left to right: Lindsay Anderson, Jim Gifford, Gros Pokossi, Wes Reno)
BY JORDAN MAINZER
Given that you can find almost anything online these days, it's refreshing to go to a show where you have no idea what sounds will emanate from the stage. Such is often the case with improvisational jazz or experimental music, but rarely with singer-songwriter material. Wednesday night at SPACE, both Same Waves (the project of L'Altra vocalist and keyboardist Lindsay Anderson) and longtime collaborators Whitney Johnson and Lia Kohl presented unreleased pieces, and in the case of Same Waves, a formally unannounced collection. How each act chose to go about with their showcase was different yet equally rewarding.
The last we heard of Same Waves was 2020's Designations: Dunes, a release billed to Same Waves + Hibernis. (Both were at one point described as Anderson's project with Hefty Records founder and soundscape artist John Hughes; I'm not sure whether Hughes is involved anymore with Same Waves.) So when Anderson entered with a totally different band--guitarist Wes Reno, fretless bassist Gros Pokossi, and drummer Jim Gifford--and placed a selection of books at the forefront, I knew we were in for something new. As it turns out, those books, which included works by British surrealist painter and novelist Leonora Carrington, as well as by Lewis Carroll--contextualize the latest from Same Waves, a three-part love story rock opera.
Tumblr media
Anderson
Before the band played a note, Anderson took the time to tell the story of the work and why she wrote it. The plot itself is simple enough: an "old, disillusioned" Alice goes back to Wonderland, falls in love with a Prince Charming-type character who turns into a wolf, and Alice escapes. The inspiration behind the story gave it extra weight. Anderson admitted to the crowd last night that she's "never not written a love song," something she used to think of as a shortcoming but now embraces. After all, isn't the phenomenon of love and why we seek it out the greatest existential question? Anderson was inspired by Carrington's life, starting with Carrington first witnessing the paintings of German surrealist Max Ernst and declaring that she was in love with him, having never even met Ernst. Of course, Carrington eventually did meet Ernst in London, Ernst separated from his wife, and Carrington and Ernst began a love affair and artistic collaboration. After Ernst was arrested twice--first by the French for being an illegal alien, then by the Gestapo for his degenerate art--he fled to the United States with the help of Peggy Guggenheim, who he would marry and remain married to for a few years. A heartbroken, devastated, and anxious Carrington was admitted into an asylum and treated with shock therapy and barbiturates. She was released from the asylum to be sent to a sanitorium in South Africa and managed to escape while on her journey, in Portugal. With the help of Mexican poet and journalist Renato Leduc and a convenience marriage to him, Carrington ended up in Mexico, where she would have a hugely fruitful and influential career up until her death in 2011, at the age of 94.
It's easy to see why anyone with a penchant for storytelling would be inspired by Carrington's life. Anderson, specifically, though, crafted a tale around universal artistic themes: the power and seduction of love, finding and exploring a muse, taking stock of and cultivating your own agency. The songs themselves were certainly fervent, and their instrumental arrangements appropriately expansive and epic. Reno's licks were the emotive heartbeat, bluesy and distorted. Pokossi's bass was the wiry, slinky backbone, keeping it all together. Gifford's drums crashed to dramatic flair. Of course, theater was sometimes the point; when performing "The Wolf", Anderson donned a fur vest. At the center were her vocals, themselves an instrument, traveling alongside the band whether she was cooing or wailing. During a solo encore, on the piano, Anderson performed a faithful cover of the Tori Amos classic "Winter". It was a fitting choice: Amos's narrator, like Carrington, like Anderson's Alice, mourns the betrayal of love and an absence of imagination. Finding them again within yourself is something worth celebrating.
Tumblr media
Lia Kohl & Whitney Johnson
Johnson and Kohl, meanwhile, announced their first album together on the very morning of the show. Their live collaboration started in 2018 and has blossomed into the upcoming For Translucence (Drag City), improvised compositions for Johnson's viola, Kohl's cello, synthesizer, field recordings, and radio and sine waves. If the first single, an excerpt of "73|74", and what I heard last night (purportedly part the composition, part further improvisation) was any indication, their creative partnership continues to combine Johnson's explorations of the relationship between sound, mind, and body with Kohl's examinations of found sound, perception, and memory. The two started out on synth--Johnson, the APR Odyssey, Kohl, the Teenage Engineering OP-1--before picking up their strings. The echo created by Kohl dropping her bow on her strings, letting the bounce reverberate, contrasted Johnson's deliberate strokes, and they carried on sometimes in tandem, sometimes in conflict. Considering that each song on For Translucence consists of two improvisations superimposed over one another, and is named after the respective octaves to which the instruments are tuned, it's appropriate that the mixture occupies a space between shared language and chance. The result, on Wednesday, was rich with layers.
0 notes
trevlad-sounds · 1 year ago
Text
Tumblr media
Another Mix You Missed.
March Mix A. Pt. 2. The Instrumental Electronic Set.
Radicalfashion-Shousetsu 00:00
Evil Needle-Sunday Morning 03:00
B. Bravo-Computa Love 06:48
Silowette-fresh.air 10:32
Flamingosis-Airplane Mode 12:29
Galvanix-Thirteen 14:52
NeguimBeats-An Opportunity Feat. Victor B 18:17
Mr. Moods-Love is a Strange Thing 21:35
Nujabes Island (featuring Uyama Hiroto & haruka nakamura) 26:21
The Gaslamp Killer-Residual Tingles 31:33
Plaid-Masato Shuffle 33:03
Ratatat-Flynn 37:36
Take-Horizontal Figuration (Tokimonsta Remix) 39:17
Melchior Sultana-Early Bird 42:50
Cid Rim-A Fall For Two 47:16
Floating Points-Wires 50:39
Mr. Figz-Staring Back ( Evil Needle Remix ) 1:01:21
Helldogs Kris-Cycles 1:02:37
Quantic-Meaning 1:05:42
Missingsense-Numb Lock 1:07:56
Kodomo-Concept 11 1:11:10
Big Wild-Full Moon 1:16:28
Tornado Wallace-Lonely Planet 1:18:51
Motionfield-Luftrum 4 1:21:52
Hidden Orchestra-Flight 1:27:36
AL PATRON-Lately 1:34:56
Thriftworks-Soul of the Cricket 1:37:00
Evil Needle-Falling Leaves 1:39:37
Penthouse Penthouse-When It Rains (w/ Stwo) 1:42:21
Sweatson Klank-Still Dark (Instrumental) 1:46:44
1 note · View note
ifyougiveuptoday · 6 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
we need to let them loose in a shopping mall with unlimited budget NOW!!!
32 notes · View notes
angryjewishcockroach · 4 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
My dad and I went through the record collection today to organize them in some snazzy record boxes we recently got, and, amongst all the classical and opera, we found these! Clockwise, these records are: Rosh Hashanah Service by Jan Peerce (an opera singer and cantor) with the Camerata Singers; The Brothers Zim Present The Joy of Shabbos by Sol Zim and his sons | Original Chassidic Melodies for the Sabbath | Special Havdalah Service; Dvorak/Cello Concerto Bruch/Kol Nidre by Janos Starker (cello) and Antal Dorati (conductor); and Kol Nidre Service by Richard Tucker (another opera singer and cantor) composed and conducted by Sholom Secunda.
I'm really excited to listen to the cello version of Kol Nidre because every year at my synagogue a violinist performs it, and every year I spend the entirety of the performance thinking about how much nicer it would sound on cello.
6 notes · View notes
fairyblue-alchemist · 8 months ago
Text
horror game concept: standard run of the mill horror game where monsters or whatever can hear the noises you make and are attracted to you because of it BUT your flashlight is a smartphone with 10 keychains attached to it. no you can't take them off
source: me looking for something in the dark with my phone and said phone is loud as FUCK
11 notes · View notes
oldshowbiz · 1 year ago
Text
Tumblr media
youtube
1967.
Not in a million years would you expect such a heavy, driving, hypnotic song to be on a soundtrack album that looks like this.
36 notes · View notes
vampirebiter · 5 months ago
Text
my apologies to the g.utsca stan who just followed my art blog and will inevitably scroll one post down and see my g/g choking riding sex drawing. i think you will probably be sorely disappointed by the kind of artist i actually am.
5 notes · View notes
thefallenangelsgang · 1 year ago
Text
Tumblr media
I'm SOBBING
9 notes · View notes
thedreadvampy · 1 year ago
Text
realising how much of my expansion beyond rock and metal into a wide range of genres is because:
Slipknot crossed over with the edgy/gothier end of 2000s hiphop
Disturbed are just like. The BIGGEST nerds for 80s British pop (they're not alone in that, it's a whole numetal Thing, but I think like a solid 10% of the 80s pop I listen to I first heard as a Disturbed cover)
Lady Gaga was the top 40 artist it was Okay For Edgy Alternative Teens To Like In 2007
Being an Alternative 2000s Teen was in many ways very musically stifling cause it was incumbent upon me to perform disdain for anything deemed too Pop.
I was somewhat rescued by my own gayness (when me and my gay goblin friends discovered CAMP!!!! and got semi-ironically big into Katy Perry and Rihanna and of course Gaga) but mostly I was so aggressively self-policing my music tastes and deciding what to listen to based more on my assessment of where it fitted socially than on whether I like. Liked it.
Catch 13 year old me studiously typing "punk" and "metal" into Limewire and listening to whatever came up. Catch 15 year old me assessing whether the fact that Rihanna is making music videos about murder in black lipstick means it's ok to like top 40 pop. Complicated by the fact that honestly half the biggest Alternative Teen bait acts of the 2000s were pop as hell, and that as above, numetal acts were nerdy musicians with a broad range of tastes outside metal, and it was very complicated for me. It probably took me until I was like 20 to really start to get a handle on what I personally liked musically, rather than what fit my persona (vividly remember being in a goth club when I was like 18 where they closed out the night with Leonard Cohen's Closing Time every time, and thinking like oh man am I allowed to like Leonard Cohen then? having been listening to Leonard Cohen since I was a literal infant.)
Once I let go of the sense of having to like the Right Music, I very rapidly developed very eclectic tastes and music became a really big part of my life. although my friend did recently still describe my music taste as "two genres - heavy and gay" so that 2000s alt teen is still in there big time.
I think it's a normal thing about being a kid. You're developing music taste basically from scratch and there's a world of music out there so it helps to start out with a narrow focus and build a solid few acts, albums or genres you really like and work out from there. But I do regret how much good music I missed out on first time around because even though I liked it I wrote it off for being rap or being too pop or too upbeat. But the good thing about music is that it doesn't go away! I'm still discovering a lot of music that I heard 50000 times when it was on the radio but never really listened to at the time. It's fun!
#red said#also i do think the fact that my family didn't really listen to music radio did change the ways i developed taste#it was talk radio or music my parents or us kids already owned so there wasn't like. a time i was listening to new music where#i wasn't also performing Teen Coolness for other kids. i mostly heard new music in the art room at school or in cafes or on coaches#whereas i know a lot of people who built their foundational music tastes really on from what was on the radio when they were kids#lot of people i know reminisce about hearing certain songs in the car to school etc and for me that's not music that's BBC Radio 4#idk i think it's really interesting that like. early developmental stage of music tastes#cause it's different for everyone. for most it's a patchwork of your family's music what your friends listen to and what's on the radio#as well as stuff you stumble on or seek out of of interest#and the balance is different for everyone. i think it says a lot about your experience of childhood#and i also think like for myself I'm often quite judgemental of child!me's basic and limited tastes#because i was pretty judgemental of myself at the time for not knowing Enough Music#and as an adult I'm like nah that's a pretty vital part of development. like you don't get mad at a baby for not knowing what words mean.#you have to start somewhere! when you're 14 you've only had 14 years to listen to music and for most of that time you weren't choosing it#and you probably haven't been going out to gigs or record stores off your own back. you're going with friends or family's recommendations#so like as a teen i knew my parent's music. i knew my brother's music. i read Kerrang! and listened to stuff my friends suggested#but it took time to build up that solid foundation to go 'what i like is a hefty beat/ bass and a lot of energy. i will find more of that.'
6 notes · View notes
cyandocs · 1 year ago
Text
The Universe seems to be reluctant to let me record The Sims again. Not only does the game crash, sometimes alongside OBS, whatever process is happening is enough to make my computer PANIC and blue screen. I've lost well over an hour worth of footage to corruption.
So. I guess that channel will stay dusty for now 🙃
0 notes
7s3ven · 5 months ago
Text
FILE LOADING… tf 141 x hacker! reader
pt one
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
You needed a way to lighten your prison sentence and Task Force needed a hacker who actually knew what they were doing.
It was a win-win situation if it wasn’t for the fact that you always work alone. Teamwork? That was an unheard concept to you.
You, with a criminal record so long it could be used as a blanket. You who came from a mafia family so it’s no wonder such a sweet looking doll ended up in prison for stealing valuable files.
Task Force 141, an elite squad who had no idea how to spend their hefty pay checks. The idea of a special woman in their lives was merely a figment of their imagination until Laswell threw your files down in front of him.
You were young, barely twenty-seven. The tattoo ink decorating your body with feminine designs was a harsh contrast to your background. And when you sneered at the camera, it gave a perfect view of your tongue piercing and gems adorning your teeth.
In short, you were the perfect little thing they could spoil.
“Reaper? Why do they call her that?”
“Because it’s the last name you learn before a bullet pierces your fucking skull. Once she steals your information, there’s no getting it back. And when she shares it with your enemies, you’re a deadman walking.”
5K notes · View notes
zarameraki · 1 year ago
Text
♡₊˚⚜️・₊✧ 𝘆𝗼𝘂'𝗿𝗲 𝗲𝘅𝗽𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘀𝘂𝗸𝘂𝗻𝗮'𝘀 𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗱, 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗹𝗱'𝘀 𝗰𝗿𝗶𝗺𝗲 𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 ♡₊˚⚜️・₊✧
: ̗̀➛ tropes: fem! reader 𖥔 mdni 𖥔 sukuna is a mafia kingpin 𖥔 teasing grumpy x sunshine 𖥔 pregnancy trope 𖥔 he'll burn the world for you 𖥔 "my wife" 𖥔 he's a great dad 𖥔 mentions of miscarriage 𖥔 mentions of physical and sexual assault 𖥔 mention of parental death 𖥔 major fluff 𖥔 sexual content 𖥔 alternate universe 𖥔 nsfw 𖥔 he loves eating you out 𖥔 anal play (yup.) 𖥔 last warning: mdni!
: ̗̀➛ words: 6.0k
: ̗̀➛ notes: no bc i love you all so much. it's insane how much you guys have supported my toji fanfic & and my nanami fanfic. i'll def be writing a part two to both of those masterpieces (yes i have self-confidence). as someone who's always imagined sukuna as a mafia leader, i decided to say fuck it and write it. please leave a comment, like, and reblog! thank you & ily. enjoy! (p.s. pregnancy trope>>>)
Tumblr media Tumblr media
You never thought you'd be married to Sukuna Ryomen, let alone carrying his kid again. Yet, four years deep into this forced marital mess, thanks to your father owing a hefty debt to the kingpin of the underworld crime syndicate, here you were.
“Look at you, Mrs. Ryomen, radiant as ever!” chirped one of your husband’s associate's wives. You had studied a name list last night, but it all escaped your memory after you passed out from sheer exhaustion.
Sukuna wasn’t keeping a hawk's eye on you like he used to when you first stepped into the public eye. Gone were the days of his glares if you messed up a name. Never once had he laid a finger on you at home, despite your assumption that forgetfulness would earn you a beating.
“Thank you." You forced a smile at the woman, your patience waning as the mayor's birthday party stretched on. It was almost the end of the night, and your feet were protesting from traipsing around in flats. All you craved at that moment was your bed, pronto.
The woman and her husband attempted to capture Sukuna's lukewarm attention through political discussions and expressing gratitude for the illegal artillery shipments from your husband's syndicate. They made no effort to acknowledge your existence by his side.
Your hand rested on your belly, a mere eight months into your pregnancy—a new personal record. The first time you conceived, Sukuna demanded an heir, and you willingly agreed, knowing that the child would provide some distraction in the expansive estate that felt like a cage. Unfortunately, at the two-month mark, you experienced a miscarriage.
Feeling Sukuna's knuckles lightly tapping your back, you straightened your posture momentarily, only to slouch again almost instantly. It was futile. The discomfort of your swollen and cramped belly made it nearly impossible to maintain a poised demeanor in the midst of the party.
Disobeying Sukuna meant facing inevitable death, a fact well understood in his dangerous domain, and you had never dared to challenge that.
"Let's go," Sukuna said, cutting through the incessant chatter of the couple. He didn't grasp your hand, only your fragile wrist, a gesture you didn't mind. Yours was not a typical love; he, Sukuna Ryomen, a most feared monster in the criminal underworld, and you, a sacrificial lamb, a trophy collected three years ago, a means to his heir.
"I'm sorry," you whispered as you exited the venue, heading towards the limousine surrounded by fifteen armed guards under Sukuna's command. "I'm so sorry—"
"Get in the car." He held the door open for you, signaling his guards to disperse and take their positions in the Jeeps parked behind.
Silencing yourself, you cautiously settled into the back seat, and Sukuna joined you, slamming the door with force. His anger was discernible, and the memory of that night, losing your second unborn child to a kidnapping, plagued your dreams. You were uncertain if the nightmares were about Sukuna's wrath upon finding you or the horrors his enemies inflicted on you during your 48-hour captivity.
Sukuna noticed your struggle with the seatbelt and contorted his body toward you. Your fingers released their grip on the belt, allowing him to pull it taut and secure it snugly around your midsection. Click. He withdrew, distancing himself from your face that had been mere inches away.
“Tedious fucking party, anyway,” Sukuna grumbled, his left ankle casually perched on his right kneecap. He always adopted a specific posture, his elbow leaning against something, cheek resting on his knuckles, and his narrow eyes a rich brown that could almost pass for a deep shade of red. He exuded an unrelenting air of intimidation.
"I agree," you unintentionally voiced your thoughts, earning a sidelong glance from him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."
His attention barely lingered on you as the car roared to life. You breathed a sigh of relief, stretching out your legs and leaning your head back against the seat's shoulder. Your palm absentmindedly traced circles on your belly. Goosebumps peppered your skin from the frigidness in the car, stirring an involuntary shudder.
"Turn on the heater," Sukuna ordered the driver in his smooth, languid baritone.
"Yes, sir."
As warmth gradually surrounded the backseat, you hummed a small "Thank you" and closed your eyes, enjoying a few moments of peace.
Disorientation clouded your senses, and you dispelled it by rubbing your eyes and using your knuckles to prop yourself against the headboard. A couple of contractions ripped through your gut, causing you to groan and hiss through gritted teeth.
The enormous room was devoid of Sukuna, its black silk sheets hinting at the luxury covering you. The fireplace casted a warm glow, and a soft, dim golden light spilled from the lamp onto the floor.
In the first year of your marriage and pregnancy, your bedroom was located three doors away. You were tended to by on-site nurses and doctors, surrounded by an entourage of maids for company. Days were spent aimlessly wandering the estate, occasionally crossing paths with one of Sukuna's mistresses, their curious smirks evident as they exited his room.
The second year brought a subtle shift. You still slept alone, but now there was a surprising addition of joining Sukuna for dinner. Positioned diagonally from him, an air of restrained silence hung above your head. Yet, between the utensils clattering and quiet chewing, Sukuna's glances toward you and your five-month-old belly revealed your anticipation for the impending arrival of your child.
One of your maids had been instructed to lure you into a private conversation in the back garden, and before you could react, a group of men clad in black drugged you and forcibly removed you from the cage, which in that cruel moment felt like a sanctuary.
Most details of the monstrosities forced upon you in that warehouse have been compressed by your mind—the merciless physical and sexual assault endured for hours. They callously bragged that raping Sukuna's Ryomen's wife was a personal victory, cackling like bloodthirsty hyenas as you bled from your legs. In the thick of your suffering, you lost your second child in a pool of your own sweat and feces.
When Sukuna discovered you, when he annihilated every man along with their bloodlines, you were left as a mere shell of a woman, practically lifeless. You've existed as a walking corpse for quite some time now. Following that dreadful night, you attempted every conceivable means to end your own life—drowning, leaping out of windows, creating a makeshift noose from bed sheets and tying them around balcony railings, teetering on the edge—but every attempt proved useless. Sukuna consistently interfered at the last minute, sweeping in and enveloping you in his arms as you wept until unconsciousness claimed you for days.
Therapy provided some relief, as did the medications. Sukuna heightened security measures tenfold, keeping only those workers who served during his father and grandfather's reigns. He moved your belongings into his bedroom, sleeping by your side with a gun beneath his pillow. There were times when you would doze off in the library while reading, only to wake up in his room.
Two years seemed like an eternity in the slow process of healing, both physically and mentally, from the torment that had befallen you. Stepping into the garden was a reminder of the progress you had made, yet the hope that blossomed in your womb now filled you with a different kind of fear.
You needed your baby. Even if it meant risking your own life during childbirth. The only thing that mattered was the precious life you carried within you, and as long as your baby took that first breath, you'd welcome death with open arms.
Sukuna's bedroom door creaked open, revealing his presence.
Mink-colored tendrils of hair obscured his eyes, disheveled from their usual spiked stance. The stark white of his dress shirt was marred by the unmistakable stains of someone else's blood, and a gun dangled casually from his grasp. In the subdued lighting, his facial markings, inked tattoos designed to mask the scars of his tormented childhood, appeared more ominous than ever.
Without acknowledging your ogling, he briskly entered his bathroom.
You slipped back under the covers, pulling the comforter up to your chin, soothing the sharp twinges in your belly. The rhythmic sounds of his shower served as a background melody. Sukuna took an eternity to freshen up, nearly two hours passing before the door finally creaked open. You had kept a close eye on it, lost in your own world and trying to ignore the persistent contractions. No complaints, though – you were at the eight-month mark, and this baby was determined to make its entrance into the world.
Draped in a sleek black silk robe, Sukuna strolled toward his side of the bed, his eyes locking onto yours. "Why are you still awake?" He tilted his head as if studying an unfamiliar creature. He always regarded you with a curious interest, unearthing some new revelations about you.
"Cramps," you whispered in the dimness, even though the first rays of morning sun began to seep through the curtains.
Sukuna strolled to his side of the bed, lifting the comforter to settle down. "Do you take any medication for it?"
You shook your head. "I don't want to take any risks."
"So you're just going to endure the night with a migraine?"
Your husband seemed oblivious to the concept of cramps. He hadn't bothered to educate himself about your pregnancy or even familiarize himself with basic menstrual cycle terminology. You hesitated to bring attention to his title and position, but he was, after all, born from a woman.
How could he not know?
"Answer me," Sukuna demanded, fixing you with a cold, indifferent gaze. How could two simple words carry such a heavy, intimidating weight? Your entire body shuddered, and you swore you felt your child kick in response to his attitude, causing you to clench your teeth.
"Cramps . . . are something women experience during their period and pregnancy. They're sharp, unpredictable pains in your gut and back," you explained, finding a position that eased the cramps and calmed your baby. "It's worse when you're pregnant—like someone attached a taser to your body without a switch to turn it off."
Sukuna's brow furrowed, and he seemed pissed off as if he held a vendetta against cramps. "Will it have any consequence on the baby?"
You were really trying to be patient. “The baby is the reason why.” 
He ran his hands wearily down his face, casting a stern gaze at the ceiling, his breath quickening. "Is there any way to relieve the pain? Besides medication?"
“Well,” you said slowly, “when I first started menstruating, my mother used to place a warm rubber bottle on my stomach.” The recollection of nights spent groaning, tossing, and turning with your hand clutching your stomach brought a smile. After her passing in high school, you found yourself managing the household, dealing with your drug-addicted father, and taking care of yourself all on your own.
"Come here."
Startled, you shifted your focus to your husband, who raised the comforter like a makeshift tent with one arm. "You don't have to—"
"Come here."
With caution, you edged closer, lying flat and holding your breath. Sukuna propped himself up on one elbow, resting his temple on his knuckles while adjusting the blanket up to your neck. His left hand glided up your sweater and settled on your swollen belly.
An immediate sense of relaxation cocooned you, your eyes closing as warmth radiated from his palm onto your skin. The sensation passed through to your child, who quit kicking within seconds, seemingly recognizing their father's touch. It dawned on you that Sukuna hadn't touched you since you conceived, and you hadn't realized the volume of your misery and longing until this moment.
"Feeling better?"
"Mm-hmm." You nestled your face close to his neck. All you managed to whisper, your voice tinged with brokenness, was, "Please, don't let go."
Sukuna responded only with silence.
You'd woken up screaming bloody-mary.
The security team and maids hurried into the bedroom, their eyes widening at the sight of blood staining your clothes and darkening the black sheets. In a swift response, the doctor and her team of nurses rushed in while Uraume, Sukuna's trusted aide, calmly called for your husband from a corner of the room.
In the heat of your excruciating screams, five nurses attempted to guide your breathing and encourage you to follow a pattern. Guards carefully lifted you into a sitting position, and Uraume decisively cleared the room of all men. The doctor swiftly removed your sweatpants and panties, covering your lower region with a sheet, and instructing you to push.
Your body felt numb, your eyes rolling to the back of your head, and a black vignette closing in on your vision. Your head swayed left and right, on the verge of dropping if not for Uraume's unwavering support. Despite the intensity of your grip, they held steady, their only reaction being a stream of muttered curses amid the chaotic scene.
"I can't—Uraume—"
"You will, Mrs. Sukuna. You have come this far. Giving up now is not an option."
"I don't want to die," you whispered akin to a prayer.
"You won't," they softly replied. "He won't allow it."
Uraume, a silent figure from the past, now stood by your side, offering support and encouragement. The connection with them had been minimal, limited to the formalities of a marital contract signing. They had simply muttered, “He’s not half as evil as they say,” to you before packing up the papers and leaving you in the room with Sukuna.
The room buzzed with affirmations, reassuring you that they could see the baby's head and urging you to push with each breath.
The sound of the baby's cries stirred you awake.
You snapped to attention at the sweet, reassuring sound, realizing that your baby was close to arrival—alive and ready to face the world. Following two heartbreaking miscarriages and the pain endured as Sukuna's wife, the bearer of his lost children, you were finally on the cusp of welcoming motherhood.
"Two more pushes!" The doctor's voice cut through the air.
"AGH!" A guttural growl escaped your throat as you grappled with the harsh sensations. Your body trembled, and waves of fiery discomfort overflowed through your core as you exerted yourself to bring your baby into the world.
"Come on," Uraume whispered. "You can do this, Mrs. Ryomen."
You let out a powerful cry and strained with effort, bringing forth new life. The baby and you were crying at the exact wavelength, competing against who could be louder. The nurses and attendants, familiar faces from your previous pregnancies, clasped their hands in prayer for a safe delivery. Tears of relief streamed down your face as you pushed for your own well-being.
"Blanket!" the doctor urgently called out, prompting a nurse to rush over with a soft cream blanket. "Push!"
With a final, determined push, the weight lifted suddenly.
The slippery sensation of delivering the child and the immediate release of pressure left you slumping against Uraume's shoulder. As they laid you down, the doctor directed the staff to tend to you while the baby's cries filled the air.
The doctor approached through your hazy sight and gently laid your newborn on your chest. Overwhelmed with emotion, you showered your baby with kisses, tears of joy streaming down your face. Your little one was here. They were finally here.
"Congratulations, Mrs. Ryomen," the doctor announced as the cries of your newborn gradually faded into the background. "It's a girl."
You drifted into unconsciousness.
The soft cadence of Sukuna's voice filtered through the foggy boundaries of sleep, causing you to slowly come back to life.
“Why is this brat refusing to sleep?” you heard your husband grumbling.
With a laborious effort, you rubbed your eyes, summoning the strength to lift your head from the comfort of the pillow. The scene unfolded before you—Sukuna, the most feared criminal, pacing at the foot of his bed, cradling your crying newborn daughter in his arms, unsure of how to handle his little foe.
"What do you want? Food? You don’t have any teeth yet, little miscreant."
"Sukuna . . ." you whispered, a gentle plea for attention.
Your husband's gaze snapped in your direction, relief washing over his features as he realized you were conscious. "Thank fuck." Moving swiftly, he approached and took a seat at the edge of the bed.
His brown-reddish eyes lingered on the delicate scene unfolding before him—the intertwining of your index finger with your daughter's tiny, rattling fist. A calming magic seemed to stem from your touch, instantly soothing the cries to soft sniffles.
"Already playing favorites, I see," he remarked with a teasing tone, a wry smile on his lips.
"I have to feed her." Your voice was hoarse from the relentless screaming during the delivery. A series of deadly wheezes followed when you coughed, frightening your baby once more. Her cries started again, blending with the impatient curses of her father.
He gently placed her in the cradle, his strength used to prop you up against the headboard. The room carried the scent of coconut soap, your body freshly washed, the sheets beneath you brand-new. You were also dressed in a new set of panties and a nursing bra.
"Are you sure you have enough nutrients in your body to feed her?" Sukuna asked, holding your baby girl as you unclipped the front left cup. Rather than wasting your breath on a response, you focused on helping your daughter latch onto your nipple.
You winced once she caught it, then melted back as she started drinking. “I’m fine,” you finally answered. “Body . . . hurts.”
"No shit. You pushed an eight pound baby out of you." Despite the crude sarcasm in his tone, Sukuna tenderly caressed his knuckles over his daughter's cheek.
"Did you want . . . a girl?"
"Why do you ask?"
"I'm sorry," you mumbled, adjusting your baby onto your lap. "I assumed you'd prefer a boy as an heir."
"I'm not my father," he declared, putting an end to the conversation. "She's got your eyes."
Your daughter gazed up at you with a curiosity remarkably similar to yours. You smiled down at her, grateful she had made it. Grateful that Sukuna wasn't throwing a tantrum over the gender of your child but instead cupping the top of his baby girl's head and brushing his thumb across her forehead.
“You got a name for her?” Sukuna asked.
“Yes, but we can brainstorm if you don’t—”
“You carried the child, you birthed her, you will name her. Whatever it is, I agree.”
Something dead stirred inside your chest. Swallowing hard, you shared the chosen name, "Nobara."
He nodded in approval, and as he pronounced her name, Nobara responded with a wailing cry. "Her tantrums will be the fucking death of me." Sukuna took her into his arms again.
"Support the back of her head and rub her back. She needs to be burped," you advised.
He grunted but followed your instructions. Moments later, a tiny burp from Nobara made you chuckle, earning a slight eye roll and a hint of a smile from him.
"I'll take the next few weeks off to help you recover from the aftermath and the stitches," he announced, rising and walking towards his work desk, where he settled into a large leather chair, cradling your newborn.
You nodded appreciatively, easing yourself down.
"Oh, before I forget," Sukuna mentioned as you settled into bed, "I've arranged a new doctor for you."
“Did you fire the last one?”
“I fired at her, yes.”
Your eyes widened. "What? Why would you—? What?"
He shrugged, cradling the back of your newborn's head. "She suggested an additional stitch for you. Said it would make things 'tighter' down there for me."
Your face flushed. “So . . . you killed her?”
"Yes," he confirmed, his gaze fixed on you with those penetrating eyes, "I don't need a mere doctor questioning whether I'd still enjoy having sex with my wife after she gave birth to our child."
“But . . . you have mistresses. Don’t you?”
He lifted a brow. “I had mistresses up until . . . ”
Up until the kidnapping.
Sukuna never spoke of the crime after he’d saved you. Instead, he expressed his commitment through actions: sleeping beside you, teaching you how to handle a handgun, keeping a protective arm around your waist at social gatherings. Occasionally, you swore you felt him run his fingers through your hair as you slept.
"I wouldn't mind if you did," you admitted, a voice inside contradicting your words. "Given what my body has been through, I would find myself repulsive for pleasure, too. I understand if you feel disgusted."
Sukuna halted the gentle strokes on your daughter's back and straightened up. "What the fuck did you just say?"
An icy shiver ran through you, momentarily numbing the pain. "I-I just assumed—"
"You know, you make a lot of assumptions about me, wife. It gets under my fucking skin that you'd ever believe I could raise a hand on you. Day and night, every hour and minute, even now, in your presence, my mind is consumed with ways to kill the fear that's taken root in you.” He was infuriated yet vulnerable, with Nobara sleeping peacefully on his shoulder. “Everyone I’ve ever met has done nothing but fear me like I’m a curse on their soul, and while I’m flattered of the monster they’ve painted me out to be, I refuse to let my wife and daughter see me in that light. Do I make myself clear?"
You . . . nodded. 
“And for your information, I had mistresses up until I married you.”
You took in a sharp breath, processing the confession. "But those women—"
"Spies," he clarified, his voice low and steady. "They operate undercover in my clubs, keeping an eye out for potential threats. I haven't fucked anyone since the day I put that ring on your finger." He offered a small, almost imperceptible apology to your baby for cursing.
"Oh."
All you ever heard were twisted stories about the Sukuna Ryomen, a young man who, against all odds, slaughtered his own father to ascend the throne of the underworld criminal realm. Whispers spoke of a chilling childhood, where a mother's desperate attempt to suffocate her son in his sleep. The scars etched into his skin, concealed beneath a tapestry of dark markings, bore witness to the brutal initiation rites inflicted by vengeful uncles. In his domain, everyone prayed to see him buried six feet under.
Which is why you felt sympathy for your husband. He was lonely. Too lonely. Despite all the riches and influence surrounding him, he was stuck in a fortress where danger lurked around every corner. He had no friends, no one he could truly confide in—except perhaps Uraume. Opening up about his emotions wasn't in his nature. He kept the tough exterior, convinced that being a monster, a curse, was the only path to earning respect and recognition.
But just now, when had cut himself open in front of you and bled a human color, he was Sukuna. Your husband. The one who just became a father. A man wrapped in a comfortable robe with his hair combed down and his skin clean of dirt and blood as he held his daughter, as he gazed at you like you two were the only people meant fighting for in his treacherous world.
Sukuna noticed your silence, tuned in to your steady breaths, and lowered his lashes. "You'll ask me to touch you. Not just for the sake of having another child but for your own pleasure. If I'm not around and you need me, you will call, and I'll rush home. If this little brat gives you any trouble, I'll handle it. Hell, maybe I'll let her in on a bit of the family business for a head start."
"No," you murmured, absorbing everything he'd just said. "Not now. I want her to enjoy a proper childhood."
"Is that a demand?" Sukuna tilted his head slightly, another method of asserting authority. Yet, after all he'd shared about dropping everything for you, about making love to you, the fear in you started to dissolve bit by bit.
"Yes," you affirmed. "It's a demand."
A small smirk played on Sukuna's lips as he rose from his spot, circled the bed, and settled down beside you, with Nobara resting peacefully on his chest. Summoning all your strength, you turned to run your fingers over your baby's soft cheek and tiny, parted lips.
“She sleeps like you, Mr. Ryomen.”
“Sukuna,” he corrected, his arm covering his eyes as he breathed with a slightly open mouth. “My wife will call me Sukuna.”
Teasingly, you asked, “Is that a demand, Sukuna?”
His arm shifted low, and his reddish-brown eyes softened, stealing your breath. “Only from my wife and daughter.”
You smiled, closing your eyes. “Goodnight, Sukuna.”
In response, he wrapped his strong arm around you, pulling you close to his side, his two girls snuggled against his body.
In the beginning, you knew you didn't belong in the hell Sukuna ruled. Your father's mistakes, pilfering drug shipments and peddling them locally, had sealed both his fate and yours. With thoughts of fleeing the disgrace your father brought upon your family, you had started packing, desperate to escape the clutches of your old man.
The following night, Sukuna and his henchmen barged into your cramped apartment, wreaking havoc on every piece of furniture. Rocking in the corner of your room, Sukuna casted his shadow over you like the God of Death, bathed in your father’s blood.
Crouching down to your eye level, he tipped your chin up, leaving a splotch of blood. He used the collar of your sweater to wipe it away. In a hushed confession, you revealed the hidden drugs under the sink and floorboards, along with your father's buyer list folded in the cereal boxes. Sukuna grinned and ordered his underlings to retrieve the concealed items. Then, the chilling question hung in the air: "Are you going to kill me, too?"
"I'm tempted," Sukuna replied, "but not to kill you." His gaze fixated on your left hand, and he raised it, studying your ring finger. "You will pay for your father's crimes with your life." He held your hand in front of your face. "You will take my last name." His smirk widened, revealing perfect teeth. "Isn't that the cruelest form of death, love?"
Unconsciousness claimed you then, but after seven years of marriage, enduring unimaginable hardships, and finally welcoming a baby into the world, your answer was clear. The true torment wasn't caused by the man you once perceived as a monster but rather by his enemies.
"How am I supposed to know if Mr. Munchkin wants more tea? He's a fucking stuffed toy. Can't talk, you know?"
"Sukuna," you warned, perched on the armrest while busy crocheting baby socks for your little one on the way.
Nobara, wielding a rubber, squeaky hammer, stood up from her seat, giving her father a bonk on the head each time he let out a curse. And you often heard the squeak of the hammer around the house.
Nobara's tiara was slightly askew, frustration evident in her curled lips and bared teeth. She was growing increasingly irritated with her father's lack of understanding about the rules of her tea party. "Mr. Munchkin wants tea, Papa. Give him tea! Give him tea! Give him—"
"Fine, I surrender. Here, you little bastard. Take the whole fu—damn pot." He shoved the plastic teapot towards Mr. Munchkin, a well-loved cat stuffed toy you had gifted Nobara on her last birthday. "Happy?"
"Cup," she insisted, pointing at the tea cup in front of Mr. Munchkin.
Sukuna sighed and poured the water from the kettle into the pink plastic cup.
"Me too," Nobara added, settling back in her kiddie chair. Sukuna had barely taken his seat before she had him on the floor. "Hurry!"
"May I pour for the other toys first, Your Highness?"
"Not toys. Friends."
Sukuna shot you a helpless glare, eliciting a chuckle from you. He filled the table with tea, and Nobara, holding her small cup, clinked it with her father's, followed by her collection of stuffed animals. Sukuna reluctantly mimicked the gesture. Instead of sipping the tea, he downed it like a shot.
“Papa!”
“Sukuna, come on.”
There wasn’t any winning with his girls.
Sukuna reluctantly poured himself another cup, sipping it with an air of royalty that mirrored a princess. Despite his resistance to the make-believe tea party, you couldn't ignore the genuine affection he showed toward his daughter. He would nod attentively when one of the stuffed animals "spoke," laughed along with Nobara, and even beautified himself with a glittering tiara, a feathered pink scarf, and deep purple-painted nails.
Sukuna was, without a doubt, a fantastic father. It came as no surprise that Nobara's first word was 'Brat.'
That night, you kissed your daughter goodnight and tucked her into her bed. Sukuna joked that he’d spent every last bit of his wealth decorating the brat’s room, filling it with the latest toys, and stacking her closet with whatever clothes she laid her finger or eyes on. She was truly the princess of her father’s heart.
"She's asleep," you informed him.
"I'll give her a kiss in a minute. Just need to finish this," Sukuna replied, pouring over his documents.
Letting out a sigh, you shuffled over, rolled back his chair, and settled onto his lap. He continued reading as you wrapped your arms around his neck, resting your cheek on his shoulder, peering at him through your lashes.
"I want you," you murmured.
Sukuna paused, lowering his gaze to meet your cheeky smile. "Later."
"It's late."
"I have to finish—" He halted as you began kissing his neck, moving up to his jaw and cheeks, tracing the contours of his face tattoos.
"Please, Sukuna," you whispered near his ear.
How could he refuse you anything when you appeared so stunning, radiating with the joy of expecting another child in your four-month-old belly?
“Take off your robe and get on the bed. Spread your legs for me.” He gave your ass a little smack as you happily skipped away, shedding your clothes and clearing the bed to settle in. With a grin, you opened your legs, propping yourself up on your elbows.
Sukuna stood up from his seat, loosening his robe as he did. He sighed, watching the moisture forming between your legs. Pregnancy seemed to heighten your lusts, and Sukuna was always ready to fulfill your needs.
“What pretty, wet cunt,” he whispered softly, leaning in to kiss your chest, trailing down to your stomach, your hips, your calling clit. 
Over the years, you realized Sukuna enjoyed pleasuring you more than the opposite. He feasted on you like a starved man, whether it happened in the back of the limo, in a guest room during a party, or just minutes before a crucial meeting in his office. He insisted it was his way of relaxing, often pleading with you to spend a full hour on his face as he ate you out and drank every drop of your release. It had turned into a daily routine for him. And for you.
“Oh, Sukuna, yes, yes. Right there—ah!” Your back arched off the mattress when his tongue drove into your hole, flicking and exploring your clamping walls. His mouth was latched to your pussy, sucking it in, his cheeks hollowing rapidly. Your fingers tightened in his hair, hips voluntarily grating against his face, his sharp nose rubbing over your swollen clit. 
Sukuna drew back as you came down with a muted cry behind your hand and lapped at the flow of your juices pouring out of you. His lips shone as he leaned over and gently kissed you, allowing you to taste yourself from his tongue. “If I don’t fuck you now, I will die.” 
“Hurry, then.” 
Sukuna pushed himself inside you, and that first wave of pleasure hit you so strongly that you sank your nails in his back and cried out heavenwards. He groaned and grunted, thrusts growing speed, his plump balls smacking against your ass. You loved that he fucked harder, faster, driving you to the brink of ruination. 
After you'd healed from Nobara's birth, he would always make sure to get at least ten orgasms from you. From midnight to early morning, he'd fuck you in every possible position. But his favorite was always missionary, where he could have his eyes on you, writhing and whimpering beneath him, telling him it’s too much, he's too thick, all while using your heels to draw him in even closer.
Sukuna curled his arm around your waist and sat you up on his lap, thrusting up into you as you coiled yourself around his neck. “Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. Your cunt was made for me, love. Your cunt was fucking made for me.” His hand threaded to the back of your head, grasping your hair and drawing your face back so you were looking him in the eyes without wavering, without bowing your head. He needed to know you didn’t fear him when he fucked you like this. It was an unspoken check-in, and when you smiled drunkenly, only then did he let you return to embracing him. 
“Are you close?” you whispered. 
“Not yet. I want to come in your ass.” 
You shivered despite how scalding and sweaty your bodies were. “Do it.” 
“Yeah?” 
You nodded. “Please.” 
Sukuna dragged you off his cock so you could get on all-fours, raising your ass up for him. He’s only ever been in your sacred spot a handful of times but never finished himself inside it. It appeared that tonight you were both a little extra spellbound.
Mounting himself behind you, Sukuna unfurled your ass and spit on his fingers, stroking the puckered hole. He gathered the creamy liquid dripping out of your pussy to lubricate the spot. His middle finger stretched you out, followed by his ring fingers, pushing in and out until he knew for sure you were prepared for him. 
Sukuna’s steel-hard cock pushed into your tiny hole. The sight of it expanding to swallow his girthy size almost made him come right there and then. He started to move in sluggish movement, grabbing onto your waist. His hips cruised, brushing against your ass, making you impatient and push yourself back. 
“Understood.” He chuckled and dug his nails into your skin, dragging out to the tip and shoving himself inside. Your face pressed into your pillows, crying and trembling as he abused your asshole non-stop. “You’re taking me so well, my love. Oh, fuck, fuck.” He rutted into you like a beast, claiming your body, rubbing your clit from the front, spanking your ass, brandishing you over and over again. 
You both snapped in unison. 
Sukuna sagged over your spine as he bucked in every last bit of his sloppy seed. His lips kissed your shoulder blades, holding you up by one arm. Gently, he pulled out, his cock growing floppy until you flipped onto your back, hair sticking to your sweaty, flushed face, belly slightly swollen, your tits larger in size, his release mingled with yours seeping out from your holes. 
“Fuck, I love you,” he whispered, cupping your face like he didn’t just fuck your soul out of you. That smirk you’d come to love appeared on his lips. You reciprocated back, stretching out your arms so he could lean down and kiss you sweetly on the lips and cheeks and toss in a praise or two for what a good girl you were as he slid into you again, slower and more intimate with his game. “I fucking love you, Y/N.” 
You smiled against his lips that continuously whispered the three beautiful words and said, “I love you, too, Sukuna,” before sealing it with a long, lasting kiss.
9K notes · View notes
mekatrio · 2 years ago
Text
also i think these segments are (insanely enough) hand-drawn after created scenes, so that should mean at least Some of btsv has already been animated. who knows how much but at least someee
1 note · View note
daylighted · 27 days ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
─ BITE THE PILLOW, dad's best friend ! jackles
jensen's been breaking a lot of his rules and traditions for a little more time with you -- and he's getting less and less inclined to care.
warnings. ( 18+ ! ) pls for the love of god don't interact with this series if you're a minor. hefty age gap. unprotected p in v. daddy kink. dirty talking. manhandling. he whimpers you're welcome. he actually pulls out this time good for him! aftercare. <3 word count. 4.6k
sneak into his room here!
Tumblr media
SATURDAY NIGHTS AT YOUR HOUSE WERE always for one thing and one thing only: football. it was a tradition for as long as you could remember: the living room would fill up with your dad's rowdy friends, slinging ice cold beers back and forth from their spots on the couch, a mountainous pile of pizza boxes piling up on the coffee table.
some things never changed. your parents go apeshit downstairs over a sports game in the living room, you stay very far away from downstairs as long as you can.
not that you didn't show your support in some little ways. you avoided your family and their antics and the chaos of it, but you still wore the blue and white of the dallas cowboys; you weren't crazy.
it was one of those instances where you couldn't just avoid going downstairs, needing to eat something before the night wrapped up. you could only stay locked away in your bedroom with the sound of muffled shouting and drunken cackling through your bedroom door for so long.
"hey, sweetheart," your mom says the second you hit the bottom floor, which completely zilches the attempt you'd been making to get in and get the hell out without being noticed. "comin' to watch halftime with us?"
your face falls, exasperation dropping your jaw and leaving your mouth hung partly open. "it's only halftime?"
"sorry," she apologizes like she personally had a say in how long this game felt like it was stretching, which brings a little bit of a smile back to your lips. "your father started his little indoor tailgating party earlier since jensen's here for the weekend. that's probably why you thought it'd be over by now."
even better. jensen was in the other room, kicking the shit with your dad and uncle tom, probably drunk off of his ass. not that you cared what he did or got up to or anything, it just made the fact that you'd only thrown on one of your dad's old dallas cowboys jerseys on and nothing else a hell of a lot more interesting.
"is there any pizza left?"
your mom leans against the doorway from the kitchen to the living room, hand braced on the wall as she looks. "yeah, the top box at least has a few slices," she says, patting your shoulder warmly. "they've been talking about you."
you try your absolute best to pretend like that isn't a terrifying thought, what with who the three men in mention were. "why?"
"well, jensen asked about your studies, i think, and your dad and uncle couldn't help but start bragging on you." heartwarming as it was, you could only focus on one part of that explanation. jensen asked about your studies. after the conversation you'd had with him last night on the patio, you didn't think you liked the thought or reasoning behind that very much.
instead of pressing, you just smile at her. "oh, that's nice." it was, too, and it sucked that the only thing you could think about was how he'd use the fact that you were acing your classes without a blip on your record against you.
"go say hi to uncle tom," your mom urges, nodding you in the couch's direction, "he missed at your party when you ran off, wanted to congratulate you face to face."
you very much did not want to go say hi to uncle tom, since that meant being in close vicinity to jensen. sometimes, things were out of your control, like the fact that the reason you missed saying hi to uncle tom was because of the other of your dad’s visiting friends.
your little life was beginning to get big complications.
still, your say in the matter was naught, because your mother was nudging you in that direction already by your jersey-clad shoulders.
and there isn't any way that you can do this subtly, either, without more attention than necessary drawn to you, because you make it half a foot from the arm of the cream-colored couch your dad and his friends are spread out on, and uncle tom is on his feet.
"here she is!" he exclaims, like he hasn't seen you in weeks when, really, it'd just been a couple of days, if you counted your party. if you didn't, it'd only been a few months while you were away at school, and your dad provided you with many occurrences where he'd been with tom and he said hi.
uncle tom tosses his arms around your shoulders, tugging you tightly into his chest. he smells like beer and tomato sauce from the slice still held in his hand. he plants a big kiss on your forehead, and you can't even find it within yourself to be angry because of the dopey grin on his face when you pry yourself from his grip.
"didn't come say hi on thursday," he says, dropping back down onto the spot of the couch he took up space in, right next to an arm that you refused to look at who belonged to. you knew. that tattoo was pretty recognizable, unfortunately. "thought i pissed you off or something."
"no, i was just tired." the lies come easier now, which only makes your stomach churn just a little. you shouldn't have had to lie to your family about what you'd been up to, but you certainly weren't telling them that you'd been charmed by a devil to dance with him. "jetlag and all."
there's a reason he was your godfather. he looks relieved at that, like the prospect of you being easy on yourself and resting instead of talking to him two days ago was something he supported. he wouldn't if he'd known what you really were up to that night.
nausea churns in your gut, but you shove it down with force. the best you can do in this situation is avoid the man that'd caused it, which you were doing a wonderful job of doing.
"well," you say on a sigh, snatching the top pizza box with a little smile, very carefully dancing your eyes across the couch and skipping over jensen's in the middle, "i'm gonna go back upstairs, now. have fun with..." you wave your hand aimlessly at the tv screen. "that."
you can hear uncle tom's and your father's voices saying something, but everything is a blur outside of the tunnel vision you have for getting the hell out of there. the stairs are only a couple feet away, and you restrain from straight out running to them.
"hang on," you hear jensen mumble from the middle of the staircase, the clink of a bottle being sat down, "m'gettin' a call, i'll be back."
you literally could not move faster trying to slip into your bedroom and get the door shut before you had to cross paths. sure, he'd be on a call, but you purposely avoided his gaze entirely for a reason. he could keep up this facade with ease, but it was starting to weigh on you.
your door half-latches by the time his voice crests the top of the staircase, and you leave it, hoping he takes it as an invitation to bypass it entirely.
"yeah, i can come by monday," you catch from your spot in the center of your bed, pizza box haphazardly open next to you. you aren't even thinking about eating right now, not when you're so focused on making sure jensen walks past your room and goes to the guest one. "any time good? good."
there's a light tap on the other side of your door, and you're certain that you can feel the blood drain from your body. two more light taps, and the door pushes open slowly. jensen has his phone to his ear, a half-quirked grin on his mouth. "quick thinkin', ain't it?"
you blink your confusion. "what?" your lips mouth, not wanting to interrupt his call.
jensen flashes the blank screen of his phone at you for a second before pressing it to his ear again. "not a real call, pretty girl," he clarifies, the amusement evident in the lilt of his voice. "but you're real cute for bein' respectful about it."
the confusion melts away into exasperation. "you're ridiculous."
"you wouldn't look at me," he says, giving you an exaggerated pout that, just as fast, becomes indifference. "got a little creative."
"why?"
"don't play stupid, pretty girl," jensen steps fully into your room, closing the door behind him. the big fingers that dwarf his phone drop the facade, slipping it into his back pocket. "you're too smart for that."
you cross your legs beneath you, adjusting the end of your jersey over them — an action that jensen very blatantly tracks with his gaze. "you wanted me to."
"good girl," there's a part of you that's thankful he isn't examining your frozen-in-time high school bedroom, and another that wishes he had any indication that he wasn't just using you for a quick fuck while he was in town, because he bypasses everything to get to your bed, moving the pizza box over to the desk perpendicular to it, "and why do i want you to?"
your chin raises in defiance. "because you've been fucking me underneath your best friend's nose, and it's more fun for you to test the limits of that."
jensen's eyes flash with something, enough that his expression flattens, but that carefully constructed mask of indifference is back. "wrong." his weight sinks the edge of the mattress beneath him as he sits. "wrong twice, actually. c'mon, baby, don't make me spell it out for you."
you turn in the bed to face him, fingers folded in your lap. "how is that wrong twice? you are."
"i fucked you once." his smile is bitter and saccharine-sweet at once, a combination that almost makes you want to shrink away. you'd seen a couple sides of him before — the side that flirts with you and death at the same time and the side that pushes you and the limitations you've put on yourself, no matter how cruel it feels — but you've never seen the wolf that crowds you into a corner with his teeth bared. "i've just thought about it more than a few times."
his eyes are dark, the green swallowed by blown pupils that only serve to make him look more predatory. he leans over, his body looming over yours enough that you're forced to lean along with him, spine grazing the pillows behind your back.
"i want you to look at me," he whispers it like it was a secret, and from the look in his eyes, you didn't think he'd repeat them again, "because i wanna see those cheeks flush all pretty pink tryin' to pretend i haven't spread you open before."
you swallow thickly, unable to look away from him. he's got you held captive both in the cage of his arms he's put you in, and the intensity of his eyes. "you just wanna see me squirm. that's not fair."
"no, i want to see you scream my name, but we all can't have what we want." he tips your chin up with his index finger, caressing your jawline with the knuckle. "sometimes life ain't fair. sometimes you gotta take what you can get, when you can get it."
his expression shifts again, less predatory and more gentle, even though the dark of his pupils never pull back from their drowning of the green. "tell me to go away, and i'll go away."
and you should tell him to go away. this was becoming more of a pattern than you wanted it to be, bordering on a desperation that would do nothing in the end besides get one, or both of you, into deep waters you couldn't get out of.
but you think back to last night, how it'd felt to hear that so much of your life was kept in a tight-knit box, never straying loose from what was expected of you.
so you kiss him.
you kiss the taste of beer off of his lips, kiss the scratch of stubble that tickles against your own mouth, kiss him with your hands wound into the strands of his hair, tugging him down on top of you further so you could melt into the pillows behind you.
jensen doesn't hesitate to rise up onto his knees and move to lay over you, held up by one palm sinking into the springs of your mattress, the other pressed lightly against your chest, fingertips tracing lightly over your collarbones. it's just enough pressure to make you shiver, the callouses on his fingers leaving goosebumps peppered across your skin.
they slide down, down, down until they lift underneath your jersey and brush across the soft fabric of your panties. "i knew it," he laughs breathlessly against your mouth, hooking a finger into them and tugging, "naughty girl, prancin' around in front of me in just this."
"you weren't supposed to still be here," you say in answer, though it sounds weak in your mouth. everything sounds weak when he's pressed to you like this, daring you to open your mouth wide enough for him to invade it with his tongue.
jensen's palms flattened on your sides beneath the elastic of your panties, his fingertips pressed into the curve of your ass like he owns it. he probably does at this rate. you're so quick to melt into putty in his hands. "thank fuck i was, then," he rasps against your mouth, and then suddenly, you're on your stomach, your cheek resting into the pillows.
you don't even have time to process it, not before his hands are working so much more carefully than you'd expected from him, tugging down your panties. the cold air of your bedroom sends another wave of shivers down your spine when it breaches the newly exposed skin, wet with desire that never seemed to fade when you were with him.
jensen doesn’t waste any time, erasing any moment for you to feel vulnerable or nervous about your body being exposed — he licks a slow stripe up the slit of your folds, deliberate enough to make your toes curl into the thick muscles of his thighs.
"christ," he swears under his breath, closing his fingers around your thighs to pull you further against him. one of his palms moves to flatten on your spine, pressing it down until your back arches and pushes your ass higher into the air.
there’s the sound of a zipper and the shuffling of jeans behind you, and you writhe beneath him, a low mewl in the base of your throat. his laugh is breathless, breath ghosting over your ear as he bends down. "as pretty as you sound right now," he murmurs, his voice deep and gravely, "m’gonna need you to bite down on that pillow for me, baby girl."
you get two seconds to process the implications of that request before he slips into you, gliding effortlessly between your gushy tight heat. you understand instantly why he asks that of you when you gasp sharply, your mouth hanging open as it presses into the pillowcase.
"shh, what did i say?" jensen grunts into your ear, still sheathing the entire length of his thick cock between your tight walls. "c’mon, princess, what’d i say?"
"bite the pillow," you echo back to him, your voice wavering as he stuffs you full of him.
his fingers stroke through your hair, twirling the strands around his fingers affectionately as his hips start to rock. "good girl. you gonna do that for daddy? keep quiet for him?"
your fingers curl into the sheets, managing a nod despite the shudder that trembles like electricity through your veins. "mhm."
the hand in your hair gathers it into a ponytail and clutches it in his fist, tipping your head back. his lips graze your ear as he whispers, "doesn’t look like it to me. i wouldn’t push me, baby girl. i don’t know if you’ll like me mean."
it felt like a challenge, in its own way. he was still moving slowly inside of you, your fluttery walls stretching around him with each shallow, painstakingly slow movement. he’d chastised you for your blind obedience; did he want you to fight him on this?
you tip your head back to meet his gaze, a fire in your gaze that makes jensen grin wolfishly. you don’t say a word, but you hold the eye contact as you moan, a sound that makes his own green eyes flare.
"oh, you want daddy t’be mean, that it?" he releases your hair to push your upper back down into the mattress again, sliding his palm up to shove your head into the pillows. "always knew you were naughty, baby. someone’s gotta fuck that out of you."
you couldn’t move your face if you tried. each little noise you make in the back of your throat is muffled by the fluff of your pillows. only then does he start to quicken his pace, not as much as you want, but enough to make his heavy balls slap against the sensitive skin of your full cunt.
his one hand stays on your cheek, the other grips your hip, guiding you back against his shaft to take him deeper, hard enough for you to feel the imprint of his fingerprints in your thighs.
"you’re so goddamn tight," he hisses through his teeth, finally beginning to sound ragged and breathless himself, "i love your pretty pussy, baby, y'know that?"
you nod against the pressure of his hand, your fingers flexing at your sides after they'd started to go numb from how they'd clutched at the sheets. you'd been doing really good keeping the sounds to a minimum, but the faster he started to pump himself into you, the less inclined you were to try.
you didn't want to give into his request so easily, but you couldn't help it. your parted lips close around the fabric-covered pillow and you teeth clamp down on it, each moan and mewl from your mouth completely swallowed by the fluff inside of the pillow.
finally, his palm relents from your face, smoothing the back of his hand down the side of your face. "good girl," he murmurs, and he stops touching you and instead, grabs the polyester in his fist to jerk you harder down the aching length of his cock. each thrust is hard enough for you to push forward into the bed, deep enough for the tip of his cock to bruise your cervix.
your legs tangle around his behind you, and he shifts closer to you, making it that much more intense as he buries himself balls deep inside of you. "i'd stay inside you all fuckin' night, if i could," he pants behind you, rugged voice muffled by the soaked sound of him fucking into you, "don't got that kind of time though, do we? never have enough time for me to fuck you stupid."
you weren't so sure on that. every single time you'd been alone with him, you seemed to stop thinking entirely; obviously, considering you always ended up with some part of him inside of you. "m'not gonna last with you behavin' for me like this," he actually whimpers in the rough of his voice, the sound going straight to the ache between your legs, the building pressure of pleasure that you were so close to cresting over.
the pace jensen had set speeds up, and it's clear that he was just as close as you. you were bucking your hips against him, each noise in your throat getting more ragged and desperate. he releases your hip with his one hand, dropping it to clutch your fingers in his.
there are tears in your eyes when you finally reach your breaking point, stinging the corners. you barely manage to keep your mouth around your pillow as you cry out through the clench of your teeth, your legs shaking as he keeps going, keeps going, keeps going.
there was something raw about him like this, fucking into you with reckless abandon, enough so that his groans wavered into little whimpers. you're about to squeeze his hand to get him to stop, to slow, before the tears pooling in your eyes become overstimulated sobs, when he pulls out.
the feeling of the loss is immediate, almost as overwhelming as the feeling of his balls hitting against your clit, over and over. you gasp, lifting your head just in time to see him spilling in your previously discarded panties, the fabric fisted around his cock as white hot streaks seep through it.
jensen's eyes reopen after a couple of moments, a thin sheen of sweat coating his forehead, making the jersey he wore cling a little tighter to his arms and shoulders. he laughs, somewhat sheepish for how you usually see him, waving your panties like a white flag. "tryin' to be responsible." a joke followed by a curve of his lips.
"i'm gonna throw those away," you rasp, just as teasing as he was.
he raises an eyebrow, and you mimic the action right back at him. "i don't think you will," he hums, tossing them aside onto your hardwood floor. jensen crawls over top of you, all but crushing you under his weight as he looses a deep sigh. "jus' gonna stay like this for a minute."
"long call, then," you whisper into his ear, trying to shift underneath his heavier weight to get more comfortable. it was comforting to be so wrapped up in him.
he huffs a laugh, lifting his head to press his forehead against yours. "yeah. long call. i'll tell 'em downstairs i was talkin' to my bank or somethin' important."
his fingers brush across your cheek, tucking the strands back behind your ear. jensen leans in to press a kiss to your forehead, lips lingering for much longer than needed to be. it was this that kept you letting him into your room — the gentleness that only ever came in the aftermath, when you could believe you were more to him than just a convenient fuck.
"wasn't too rough?" he pinches your cheek affectionately, then brushes the pad of his thumb over the bone.
you shake your head, the smile on your lips lazy and sated. "no, but you're real cute for being respectful about it."
this time, his laugh is full and hearty. jensen sits up, reaching across your bedroom space to snatch the pizza box off of your desktop. "probably cold, now, but..." he settles back onto the backs of his legs, setting it between the both of you. "you should eat."
"mmm, not hungry anymore."
jensen shoves the box open, snatching a cold piece of pizza from it and shoving it in your direction. "mmm, don't care." he waves it adamantly until you take it with a dramatic huff. "you got a towel in here? lemme clean you up."
it was a striking difference to the closed-off jensen you'd gotten the first time you hooked up. he was on his feet, tucking himself back into his jeans as he genuinely searched your room for a towel or something.
you take a bite from the pizza slice, nodding toward your closet door. "it's my shower one," you feel the need to explain, though you don't really know why. you're not used to small talk with him. little details and small talk never really came up when you were together.
jensen grabs it and quirks a half-smile over his shoulder at you. "not anymore." his footsteps echo on the hardwood as he makes his way back to your bed. he hooks his fingers around your ankle and drags you closer to the edge of the bed, startling a gasp out of you, and nudges your legs open with his other hand. he wipes the towel gently up and down the inside of your thighs, glancing up at you through the short strands that fall in his eyes. "keep eatin'."
"you're distracting me." and he was. it was domestic, in a way, how gingerly he held your ankle and how careful he was with the towel between your legs.
jensen shrugs. "don't care," he repeats, though he follows it with a warm, teasing smirk, "keep eating or i'll start."
what kind of masochist were you if that sent a renewed thrill down your spine? jensen catches the sparkle in your eyes and shakes his head, tossing the towel in the same direction as your defiled panties. "you are becoming a little fiend."
you give him a toothy smile. "your fault."
"oh, my fault?" he leans in like he's going to kiss that smile, and at the last second, turns his head to steal a bite from your pizza. you gasp in surprise, laughter bubbling out of you before you can stop it. "i think i'm just pullin' the deviant out of you."
"you're pulling something out, alright," you shoot back through the fit of laughter, and he is utterly captivated by it. it makes you all too aware of how close he is, of each sweep of his eyes over your expression.
jensen leans in to kiss your forehead again, another lingering one that eases the slight tremor in your muscles still. "you'll be okay if i head back down?"
you don't want him to, and the grimace on his lips makes you think he doesn't want to, either, but you nod regardless. as he'd said before, the moments you had together were fleeting and weighted. "i'll run you a bath in the bathroom, when i head out. should be warm by the time you finish eatin'," he says, brushing your hair back out of your eyes, "and no one down there will hear the water runnin' for a few extra minutes over your uncle tom's damn shouting."
"he loves football," you say in his defense, ignoring every other bit of information he tells you so that you don't do something stupid like take it anyway else but face value. he probably wouldn't be like this again next time. there probably wouldn't be a next time. he had one day left at your house, and then he'd go back to wherever he lived, out of your life.
jensen's face falls at whatever is reflected in your eyes, and he kisses your cheek this time, the stubble tickling the skin around your lips. "you can come down after, if you want," he offers, pressing his forehead against yours. "i'll behave."
you smile, settled again from the bout of unease. "if i'm not too tired."
"i'll save you a seat."
jensen slips away, then, steps slow and reluctant like he was waiting for you to invite him back in, even though both of you knew he couldn't. he keeps the door gapped again just like you'd had it before his arrival with one last look over his shoulder at you, something unreadable and soft in his eyes.
moments later, you hear the water start to run in the bathroom at the end of the hall, and you smile to yourself.
maybe you lived as prominently in his head as he did in yours. maybe, you'd started to unravel the elusive mystery of his closed-off exterior, one day at a time.
Tumblr media
notes | sigh i love them. they r everything 2 me. i am so excited 2 finally get this out of the drafts! ───ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤfeedback & reblogs appreciated <3 !!
tags | @soldiersgirl @seven7lee @deansbeer @titsout4jackles @winchestersbgirl @tinas111 @bejeweledinterludes @lonelylonelybaby @mourningthewicked @ultravi0lence14 @1-imbroglio @hughesinthebox @angels-silhouette @blossomingorchids @chris444evr @cassiecourtemanche @writtenbyhollywood @adrienneleclerc @losers-clvb @bluemerakis @fuckedupfate @legalmente-loca @k-slla @fxckingjo @blueschevy @fitxgrld @viluren @youdontknowe @sizzlingcheesecakepanda @cupidluvzz @lanasgirlfr @h8aaz @coralfacecrown @doublecrazyyymofo @1ghxstt1 @mahi-wayy @narniabusinessbitch @zqarax @angelicjackles @arcannaa @am0rem @sthefferrete @v1v1-3 @spxideyver @suckitands33 @beausling @pieandflannel @briisbananass @cowboysandcigarettes @deanswidow @aurevina
589 notes · View notes
inhogf · 3 months ago
Note
an idea dawned on me midday🙏😭 i cant not share this
thanos in his rapper era x reader, fucking in the back of a limo and he snorts a line off your lower back plz help
limo sex ft thanos.
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
contains · dubcon, fucking in a limo, degradation kink, drug usage (he snorts cocaine off ur back UM.) · a/n: anon this is SO good i couldnt get this off my mind on god 👅
thanos was embarrassed, infuriated even— getting rejected by some bitch at ‘club pentagon’ in front of all his friends wasn't like him, no, he was thanos. so he does what anyone within a right mind would do. he slips a pill in your drink and pulls you away to his limo right as your steps get inconsistent. a punishment, he'd call it.
“look at your pussy drooling all over my cock. filthy bitch.” thanos rasps between sloppy impels of his hips against your ass. you’re spluttering a series of pathetic moans, spit gathering on your chin. you were such a fucking mess on his dick; cunt clasping onto him every time he attempted to slipped out. you couldn't lie to yourself, really— you were enjoying this, evident in the way you'd voluntarily push your ass back. you're fucked.
your senses were oh so overwhelmed, muffled music from the club wavering through your ears, before a high-pitched ring drowned out your hearing. you cry, knuckles white as you held the head-rest of the car seat for leverage, grip so tight you might shatter it. you wince when you bash your puffy, swollen lips on the expensive leather of the seat; thanks to thanos jolting you forward. he groans, blunt nails smothered by cakey rainbow polish nipping at your sweaty skin before pulling away.
“fuck, i need a hit.”
with trembling hands, thanos tore open a small plastic bag from his pocket, the fine white powder inside glistening under the dim light of the car as he pinched a generous amount, carefully tapping it onto the surface of your lower back before you grabbed his wrist and spoke up. “what are you doing-?”
he pinched your thigh and shushed you like you were some fucking baby. so humiliating. he reached for an old razor blade, and dragged it through the powder, shaping it into a thin, straight line— his breath quickening as he admired his work, the anticipation tightening his chest before he snorted it up with a rolled bill. it seemed like he got even fucking harder inside of your cunt— if that was even possible.
thanos, higher than the fucking sky right now, would start recording you, the sweat on your skin glistening from the flash. he grabbed your wrists, slamming your ass back on his dick capturing the perfect bounce on his phone. he'd post it to his cf story, captioning it as ’this is what happens when u don't give thanos what he wants 🙏’ and would put on a track he produced behind it. he almost felt bad. almost.
“y’know, it's really your fuckin' fault, stupid slut..” he kept trying to justify his actions— slurring through his gritted teeth, words nothing short of hissed murmers under his breath. he was already so fucking high and his thrusts kept getting sloppier & sloppier. “maybe if you hadn't embarrassed me in front of all my homies.”
thanos had fucked hundreds of girls, yes— yet he has never been able to be taken so well. he can't physically control himself at the gummy, velvety addiction that weeps between your legs, each thrust coating his veiny shaft in a new layer of your sweet and pearly release. so tight for him.
his brows would raise as you stopped restraining your moans— enjoying your sweet submission, your uncoordinated, needy movements when you press your hips back, meeting his hefty dick stretching your thin, velvety walls. he could tell you were giving in. he wasn't enjoying it as much now.
the rough expanse of his palm smothered whatever it is all over your back, and he slips himself from you entirely before driving himself back in again. your head spins, chin smacking the leather of the seat because of his animalistic rutting; ropes of thick cum spurting on your lower back as he pulls out last second— your own cream spilling out from your cunt. you're overstimulated, whimpering and babbling streams of inaudible nothings; his softening cock laying snug on top of your ass cheeks.
“i could snap your neck right now, whore.” your eyes widen as his big hands slither up to your throat and grip it.
“but i won't, so give me your number.”
cr @inhogf dont steal
Tumblr media
1K notes · View notes
aquasoftware · 19 days ago
Text
★ SOAK OPERAS!! ☆
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Snippet | “Don’t go acting all shy on me now, Mrs. Geto.”
Tumblr media Tumblr media
FT║ Fem!Reader ✘ househusband! Suguru.
Desc | If dealing with students who think your classroom is a WWE match wasn’t enough, now you’ve got a mountain of work waiting for you at home. Overworked and underfùcked, you finally snap ➜ so your doting, dangerously hot househusband decides it’s time to step in.
Cw║ (Proceed with caution 18+ ⚠️) Househusband!Suguru, Teacher!Reader, lots of petnames, tons of praīse, Suguru has a huge thing for legs, màssages, bėgging, bràt tàming, dīrty tàlk, soft/service dom! Suguru, bràtty sub! Reader, fīngerīng, multi big o’s, usage of good gīrl (sorryyy,) overstím, sqūīrtīng, fīnger súcking, cūm eating, spānking, prōne bōne, bréédīng, pússy drúnk! Suguru, créámpīe, lots of kisses, “love you’s,” + aftercare.
WC ➜ 3.8K ➜ ML
Estimated 17-20 minute read & Oneshot.
Tumblr media
Preparing students for huge exams that’d determine whether or not they’d graduate, grading endless assignments, lesson planning all night, and on top of that dealing with those combative students who made you question why you ever pursued being an educator in the first place?
It was all weighing on you.
And one of these days? You were going to snap.
Nevermind, that was today.
Specifically when you came home, after breaking up a classroom fight.
You huffed, kicking your heels off at the porch, tossing your heavy bag and keys onto the bench using way more force than usual, even after stepping through the door, an absurd heftiness of the day clutched onto you. And the worst of all? You still had a shit ton of work to do.
If wishes were real, you’d have a vacation paired with Pink Whitney in your hand by now, but you intensely sighed brushing off the thought.
“When’d you get in?” Suguru drawled, raising an eyebrow, manspreading on the couch–pink apron still tied around his waist from preparing dinner.
Even through your exhaustion, one sight of your husband soothed something deep in your spirit.
“Few minutes ago…” You muttered, eyes semi-lit up from seeing him, yet your pitch cascaded with dryness.
He noticed immediately–the short reply, lack of emotion in your tone, the tension in your shoulders. He quickly felt a profound urge to fix it all for you.
“C’mere baby.” Suguru commanded, reaching for the black remote to pause the dramatic soap operas he’d been super-glued to all day.
You trudged toward the leather couch, sitting beside him as he rubbed slow, warm circles across your back.
“You okay?” He tried to check in, invested on why you were upset, maybe it was the wrong time to ask though, because you didn’t mean it, you really didn’t want to take it out on him.
But something about that question made you snap completely.
“Suguru, do I look like I’m fucking okay to you?” Scowling at him, you folded your arms, crossing your legs.
Damn. Okay, he knew that was a stupid question with an obvious answer, he hadn’t expected that though. But the stress in your voice, the way your lips poked out? He knew better than to take it personally.
Instead, your husband exhaled softly, his hand never stopping its slow strokes against your back.
“I get it, baby. It’s alright.”
His voice caressed you, low and smooth–like thick honey melting on your skin, unbothered, unshaken by your moodiness, fully consumed by so much patience you were sure he’d secretly be in the Guinness world record for it.
He spoke once more “Let me take care of you, yeah?” Taking your hands into his welcoming ones.
Your heart tremendously twitched at the offer, nodding. Allowing his warm palms to knead into your calves like dough, leisurely working out the tension that had built up from being on your feet all day.
“You work too hard, Y/n.” he angelically whispered, thumbs pressing unhurried, firm circles against your aching muscles.
“It’s not my fault, I have to.” You mumbled back, head sinking farther as you leaned into the couch cushions that were decorated among a plethora of pillows, funky designs adorning them.
His hands didn’t falter, massaging so deliberate and comforting, it felt as if he put you under some sort of spell–day’s load swiftly dissolving under his fingertips. His presence became a strong yet silent reminder that you weren’t alone in this.
The scent of dinner still lingered, mingling around faint traces of his baccarat cologne. The almost professional rhythm of his touch, it was all rapidly numbing your mind.
And if you were being honest, your panties began to get extremely sticky–slick clinging to the middle part of the fabric. You were too far gone to pray he wouldn’t notice though.
He only hummed in response, but his focus gradually started to drift as he kneaded higher up your luscious legs.
It was supposed to be an innocent little massage, but it was stupidly impossible to ignore how the red pencil skirt hugged your figure, the delicate stretch of skin-colored tights underneath had his breathing irregular.
The fabric was sheer enough that he could see the beautiful shape of your legs perfectly–the curve of your calf, and the freckles on your thigh that he was obsessed with?
Your husband found himself growing rock-hard already, except he swallowed Adam's apple bobbing as he forced himself to keep his touch controlled.
Then, you shifted, letting out a breathy moan, the movement causing your skirt to ride up a little too high for him to just keep this as an innocent stress relieving massage.
Shit, he was even able to see your pretty lace panties through the tights.
His fingers dragged up, moving to your inner thigh attempting to soothe any sore muscles there too, perhaps he squeezed too hard though, because he felt it.
The way your body shuddered as tiny goosebumps trailed all over your skin.
And the way your thighs clenched a little bit, your core pulsing faster than a marathon, even through the miniature barrier of fabric.
Suguru stilled for a moment, demeanor noticeably changing. His jaw locked while his long fingers tweaked where they rested.
“Oh? I see, work isn’t the only thing making you moody huh?” his lips purred, as he smirked amused he wasn’t the only one affected since the tent in his pants was beginning to become a nuisance.
Your face grew more heated than an oven at the observation “Suguru!” you squealed eyes widening like balloons at how promptly he caught on.
You hadn’t been fucked in months due to how much duties you had after coming home, so there was barely any time for that. And having a stressful situation on top of a stressful situation? This is all you wanted right now, to be touched by your man.
He breathlessly chuckled, pale hand squeezing your thigh tighter.
“Don’t go acting all shy on me now, Mrs. Geto.”
Unfortunately for you your pride wouldn’t let you admit you needed him that easily though…
“It’s not even like that,” you blurted, rolling your eyes, shifting your legs closed as if that could stop him from detecting how hot and bothered you were.
“Are you sure?” His hand slid further, over the curve of your thigh, stopping just short of where you needed him most. “So if I touched you here…” His fingers traced the seam of your tights, scarcely grazing over your clothed cunt—“I wouldn’t find you soaked?”
A whimper fled your lips, hips jerking instinctively toward his hand.
“What was that, sweetheart?” he murmured, voice dripping pure elation. “Didn’t sound like a no.”
“Shut up Sugu,” you grunted sheepishly, body burning anticipation.
He clicked his tongue. “Tsk, tsk, tsk, a little bratty today, huh?” His other hand came down sharply against your thigh—a warning smack that made you jolt.
His fingers hooked into your tights, pulling the fabric off and the panties aside. The moment cool air hit your slick folds making it glisten, Suguru let out a low groan.
“Shit, baby. You were gonna sit here and lie to me when you’re this messy?” your man was hardly able to contain how turned on he was.
Your body shivered when his wedding band contrasted–slender fingers sliding between your warm folds, gathering your arousal.
“Mmph, so needy. My poor wifey.” He teased, brimming friskiness not pushing in yet solely to hear you whine for him.
“S—Suguru, aah please…”
He flashed a toothy grin, long jet-black hair dangling over his shoulder as he turned his head to press a tender sensual kiss on your inner thigh. “Hm, please what? you can do better than that, love.”
You squirmed, manicured nails gripping his lean muscular arm. Shortly folding, you begged “Please, just touch me, I want your fingers, anything please, I just need you.”
That was all it took. Suguru plunged two digits inside you, his ring still on, gently stretching you out. Your mouth fell apart, followed by a lengthy drawn-out moan, sprinkling into the air—evidence of how badly you desired this.
Then you spread your legs wider, just enough to let him treat you like royalty.
“Mmm, there you go,” he crooned, nudging his palm against your clit as he curled his large fingers inside, your gummy walls inviting him in.
“That’s my good girl.”
You couldn’t help but lift your hips up to meet his hand at his words, desperate for more, your slickness smearing across his palm as your body moved on instinct—hungry, mindless, wanting him deeper.
He shook his head feigning disappointment, dimples forming as his lips curved into a crooked smile.
“You could’ve just told me this was what you needed, angel. I would’ve taken care of you the second you walked in.”
You let out a choked sob, unable to focus on anything that was said. Glasses askew, cheek smashed into one of the couch pillows, your back arched as your legs trembled from overwhelming pleasure—narrowly keeping it together.
He set a fast rhythm calculated, every stroke purposeful—dragging out euphoria until your toes curled and breathy hitches swept past your lips.
But the second he hit that spot—the one that made your body judder as you flung your forearm across your face like a shield?
That’s when he started really enjoying himself, watching your reactions intently like one of his soap operas, knowing you were close.
“Mmm, That’s it, baby… Right there!” You gasped, as your body shook under his hand, pliant, attuned to every saccharine stroke he gave you.
He zeroed in on that precious g-spot, rubbing in a “Come here” motion, unrelenting and precise.
The pressure caused your walls to flutter, clenching with each back and forth gesture.
Your moans climbed higher, melting into siren-like whimpers—loud enough to have angry neighbors complaining, not that you could bring yourself to care anyway.
That coil began to build briskly, difficult to escape. Your stomach tensed with every breath, chest rising and falling in an uneven pattern, thighs quivering as you teetered right on the edge of your orgasm.
“Oh my god, hah Sugu… t—that feels s’fucking good”
“Yeah? I know it does.” His other hand pressed down on your stomach, firm but not rough, keeping you in place as he continued to plant more kisses on your leg. “C’mon, let me feel it princess, cum f’me.”
His fingers picked up speed, rough and unforgiving, tapping that sweet spot as his palm grinded on your aching clit with every motion stoking the fire emerging in your belly.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Was all you could manage to frantically spew out, voice growing hoarse after every word.
Pleasure seized you all at once—cutting like knives, immensely electric, it stole the breath straight from your lungs.
Your cunt spasmed as a mewl freed itself out of your throat as your release burst free, gushing down Suguru’s wrist—inked with your initials in cursive—and drenching his apron in the process.
And still, he didn’t stop.
His fingers worked you through the high, prying wave after wave from you, each convulsion coaxing out more wetness as the lewd squelch of your arousal grew louder, filthier.
“Love you,” you heaved between shaky breaths.
The couch beneath you was damp. His tattooed wrist gleamed. And your husband’s lips twisted into that smug, knowing smirk—so sure of himself, so proud that he could always make his wife fall apart.
“I love you too, baby,” he mouthed, sewing a kiss to your thigh. “So much.”
You cried out, legs trembling violently, the aftershocks leaving your body in tatters. The pleasure lingered like an echo, so intense you instinctively reached down to push his hand away—sensitive, overstimulated, gasping for mercy.
But Suguru caught your wrist with ease, gently guiding it aside.
“Ah ah, ah, don’t run from it, love,” he cooed, voice like velvet dipped in sin—low, smooth, savoring your unraveling. “You’re doing so well for me.”
Then another wave slammed into you—abruptly. Your hips bucked, more wetness spilling over his palm in a stream so obscene it made his jaw drop.
“Damn,” he growled, forehead resting upon your thigh as he beamed, teeth grazing your skin. “That was a pretty one.”
You couldn’t speak. Could scantily breathe. Your body was limp, boneless, nothing more than a ruin draped across the couch, mind foggy with bliss.
Suguru only exhaled, before lifting his soaked hand into the dim light—watching the way your slick spread between his fingers, shining like a trophy.
“You made such a mess,” he mentioned in awe, voice tainted glee.
You twitched in response—body still quivering from overstimulation, thighs spasming gently as aftershocks coursed through your spent frame.
Suguru chortled, before grabbing your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze.
“You gonna clean up what you did, sweetheart?”
Your lashes flittered. Eyes glossy. Lips parted as you tried to draw in breath.
He smiled, going feral at your current state.
“Open up, baby.”
His thumb teased your bottom lip, coaxing it open, and the moment you did, he slid two slick fingers into your mouth, one garnished in his wedding band—soaked in your release.
The taste of yourself coated your tongue, hot and decadent. You whined around him, his fingertips greeted your tongue forcing you to slurp away your fluids.
“That’s it,” he silkily rasped, gaze pinned to your mouth. “Suck for me.”
You obeyed without question—lips stretching, tongue swirling, cheeks hollowing as you cleaned him with moderate, reverent spins.
His pupils dilated, hunger bleeding into every inch of him.
“Mmm. Good girl.” His voice dropped an octave, thick with lust. “Tastes perfect right?”
He pulled his fingers out achingly slow, dragging along your tongue so you could feel every inch, leaving your mouth empty and your core pulsing with need again.
A soft squeak escaped you, leaning into his warmth, thighs squeezing together as your body betrayed you—already aching for more.
Suguru leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips—each one reverent.
“Told you I’d take care of you, baby.”
You were still shaking, on top of the couch, but his body was taut with restraint—his cock straining beneath his apron that he untied straight away along with unbuckling his belt pulling his pants down, sure he’d die if he didn’t empty his balls.
“Fuck, you’re so gorgeous when you’re all wrecked for me.” His hand slithered down your jaw, tilting your face toward him again, the edge of his thumb brushing your cheekbone.
“Think you’ve got one more in you pretty girl?”
“Mhm.” You nodded, batting your lashes, thighs pressing together.
That’s all he needed. He wasted no time grabbing you by your waist flipping you onto your stomach.
Your cheek pressed into the pillow, you took your glasses off holding them to be comfortable. You felt the couch dip as he knelt behind you, palms sliding up the backs of your thighs before spreading them apart.
“So fucking wet,” he expressed to himself, dragging two fingers through your folds, watching how easily you parted for him. “God, you’re perfect.” Suguru claimed, happy he’d be the only one making you like this.
You let out a shaky exhale as he stroked the head of his cock along your entrance, catching on your clit just to hear the way your breath hitched again.
“Don’t tease,” you shot, voice muffled into the cushion.
He chuckled low, bending down to kiss the dip of your spine. “Don’t be impatient princess, I’m giving it to you.”
Then he pushed in—sluggish, all the way to the hilt.
Your mouth fell open, but no sound came out at first. The stretch had your eyes rolling, back arching faintly under him as he bottomed out.
“Oh my god—” you choked, free hand gripping the armrest like it was the only thing anchoring you to earth.
He stayed there for a moment, letting you feel his girthy eight inches.
“Fuuuck, nghh, you’re tight,” he hissed through his teeth, one hand smoothing over your back, before caging you using both arms.
Then he started to move.
His hips rolled into you easy at first—deep and controlled, letting you feel every inch grind against that oversensitive spot inside you.
The pace was intimate, each stroke snatching a breathy moan from your lips.
“You take me so well,” Suguru hummed, leaning over your back, his chest pressed flush against you. “This pussy was fucking made for me.”
Your thighs wobbled as his pace built, heavier now, slapping against your ass with each thrust. You sing-song moaned, swearing you could feel him in your guts—forehead pressed into the cushion, body rocking with every deep stroke.
He used one of his veiny hands to spank your ass, biting his lip when it jiggled. Your walls clamped down around him at the action allowing a groan to leave his throat.
“C’mon, Y/n,” he panted your name divinely, mouth at your ear gently nibbling it. “Wanna feel you fall apart on my cock.”
Your legs kicked faintly, unable to handle the stimulation—his tip snapping on your g-spot just right.
It was too much.
And it was dragging you toward the edge again.
Your body had hardly recovered, but Suguru didn’t give you a chance to come down. Not when you were this heated, this snug, this perfect around him.
He found that angle directly—already knowing your body like the back of his inked hand. His strokes were deep, precise, his hips flicking against the curve of your ass with a tempo that left your lungs aching.
Your moans turned into broken sobs, face smushed into the couch cushion, drool pouring out your lip as your thighs shook uncontrollably.
“Shhh, I know, baby,” he cooed, kissing the back of your neck while he fucked you through the overstimulation. “I know it’s a lot—but you’re doing so good.”
You didn’t even have the words to beg him to slow down. Or to keep going. You were somewhere in between delirium and heaven, your body tottering under every harsh drag of his dick.
And when he found your g-spot again? Pounding into it ruthlessly you screamed.
“Aah! Sugu I can’t—fuckk” you babbled, voice caught between a cry and a whimper.
“You can,” he purred against your shoulder, fingers rolling tight circles against that overstimulated bundle of nerves. “C’mon. Give me another one, sweetheart. Wanna feel you gush on me again.”
His words broke something in you.
The coil snapped brutally in how hard it hit you. Your entire body locked up before you convulsed around him, cunt squeezing so tight it knocked the breath out of him.
A wet gush spilled from you, soaking both of you again—your thighs, his shaft, and the couch beneath.
“Shittt,” he animalistically growled, hips stuttering as he fucked you through it, the slap of skin and the wet squelch of your orgasm impossibly obscene. “That’s it. That’s my girl.”
Your vision went white for a second. Fingers clawing uselessly at the cushion, a high-pitched whine spilling from your lips.
Suguru eventually halted, letting you ride out the tremors. Letting your body melt into the couch, limp and pliant. And still, those fuzzy white bunny slippers were on his feet.
Suguru couldn’t take it anymore.
Not when your cunt was pulsing like that around him, clenching down on him like you didn’t want him to ever leave.
His grip tightened one hand resting on your hips, fingers digging into the plush of your waist as his flow grew sloppier, rougher. His forehead dropped to your neck, breath hot against your skin as he groaned deep—feral.
“Fuuuck—Y/n, you’re gonna make me cum,” he rasped, voice gruff, needy. “Shit, you’re squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight.”
Your only response was a soft, broken mewl into the pillow, your body shuddering with every thrust.
“Gonna fill you up, yeah?” he panted. “Gonna give you all of my cum—fuck, wanna knock you up.”
He was gone, entirely pussydrunk.
His hips snapped forward with a final thrust, burying himself to the hilt as a groan tore from his chest, raw and guttural. His cock twitched deep inside you as hot ropes of cum spilled into your cervix, thick and endless.
He stayed buried there, holding you tight, grinding in slow circles to push it deeper, watching his cum drip back out around his manhood.
“Look at that,” he uttered, astonished, breathless, one hand sliding down to thumb at your swollen clit again. “So full of me, think… I put a baby in you.”
You whimpered helplessly, hips rocking from aftershocks, and he finally leaned down, kissing your spine, your shoulder, your cheek.
“I love you,” he whispered, still buried deep inside, body draped over yours, voice so soft and satisfied it made your chest ache. “M’never letting you go.”
And from the floor, those ridiculous bunny slippers peeked out—innocent, stupidly soft, in total contrast to what he’d just done to you.
Suguru didn’t pull out right away.
He stayed there for a moment—buried deep, draped over you, chest rising and falling against your back, his arms curled around your middle like he didn’t want to let go. His length still nestled inside your cozy, messy cunt,
“You okay, Y/n?” he finally whispered, voice hoarse but gentle, showering kisses to the back of your neck. “Talk to me.”
You nodded, your cheek still squished into the pillow. “M’okay,” you mumbled, dazed. “Think you fucked the thoughts outta me.”
He laughed low in his chest, one hand coming up to smooth out your clothes, fingers grazing your temple.
“I’ll get you cleaned up,” he said, easing out of you with a soft hiss, watching your cum-slick pussy flutter around nothing before his eyes softened. “Shit. Made such a mess in you, huh?”
You could only brashly pant trying to catch your breath.
Suguru scurried into the bathroom nearby for a warm towel coming back to gently wipe between your thighs, murmuring praises as he went.
“There we go, angel. You did so good for me. So, so good.”
He lifted you carefully, tucking you into his chest as he sat back on the couch, pulling a blanket over both of you. His palm rubbed lazy circles into your thigh as he kissed your forehead.
And even with your legs still weak, your lips parted in a sleepy smile.
“You wore the bunny slippers the whole time??” you slurred, still dazed.
Suguru smiled. “Of course I did,” he said, his voice full of smug love. “You think I’d take these off? Absolutely not.”
You wheezed a little giggle against his collarbone, letting your body melt into his.
And he held you there—until your heart dwindled slowly, and your breathing softened.
By tomorrow morning, you’d be strolling into work like nothing happened—students staring at you, creeped out by your unshakable mood and bright, unnatural pep at 8 a.m. Not knowing you’d been thoroughly destroyed the night before by your husband in bunny slippers.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Tags 🔖 @sophistication-as @imnot-adoll @lacey-blog @hal0g3nz @cyberzpace @dreamerofstarlight @jup1tersuccubus @rheawritessometimes @suguboos @latencygirl @hopefulpeachcolor @kunanuts @tiredvlovely @rotteneyess @11thlife02 @xoyumiqls
Divider/Boarder creds | hyuneskkami, elleisdesigning, + animatedglittergraphics-n-more.
I appreciate comments, likes, reblogs. THANK YOU if you really sat down and gave this a read mwah, mwah, mwah.
A/n : Had huge Suguru brainrot and wrote this, I was not expecting the brainrot to make this end up at 3.8K whew… + I also wasn’t expecting so many peeps to wanna be tagged 😅 I hope I fulfilled your expectations!!
448 notes · View notes